If you go back and look, over the past year I have been (not literally) thrown out of a nursing home and a grocery store. A nursing home. A grocery store. One for being loud during a music festival and one for taking pictures. I am an insanely vicious criminal at heart; I just hide it well behind the beat-up old Volvo and car seat-in-the-back-seat facade. Oh, and don't forget the wrinkles and shit. SO! I need to pay attention because it can't get any worse than this...right?
I'm in trouble at church. Church. You wanna KNOW what I'm in trouble for?
Let us reiterate that this is a seriously rural part of the United States and I live here by choice. BUT. There are certain...limitations...that never cease to amaze me.
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving? The Tuesday I promised to be...somewhere. Can't remember. I realized late into the afternoon that our church (that would be the Methodist church I was christened in when it was a white frame building) was hosting the neighboring churches for Thanksgiving fellowship. If you're from around here, "fellowship" means a lot of sweet tea and food. And it is four o'clock in the afternoon and there are SERIOUS emails about how we better not run out of food. So?
You check the freezer. Finger foods. Without going to the store. And the only thing I could find that I could thaw within the time allotted to me was...cocktail weinies. Well, you can't send those, lounging in grape jelly, because it has to be finger food you can load onto a paper plate so I had a stroke of genuis and made...mini-muffins.
Let us keep in mind that 90% of guest intimidation involves presentation. And mini-muffin pans fuck 'em up every time. So I made beer bread batter ( can you SEE where this is going?) and put a dollup of beer bread batter in each mini-muffin cup, then stuck in half a cocktail weinie. Baked those suckers up lightly browned, brushed each one with melted butter and...
People, I was the hit of the night.
UNTIL. Someone found out I sent beer bread to the Methodist church and now, here I sit. Ostracized. Condemned. Despised. I have spread sin and degradation among the most upstanding members of our community (that would be the people who have nothing better to do than show up at church on a Tuesday night.) I put BEER in their food. Beer. Some of these people (I am NOT making this up) don't shop at grocery stores that sell beer. You might get...cooties?
However. This is here. I was christened in this church when it was a little white frame building where the elementary school sits now. They're stuck with me. Sinful bread and all. And I made FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY of those little suckers and no one else will do that, so? Fire me.
I'm in trouble at church. Church. You wanna KNOW what I'm in trouble for?
Let us reiterate that this is a seriously rural part of the United States and I live here by choice. BUT. There are certain...limitations...that never cease to amaze me.
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving? The Tuesday I promised to be...somewhere. Can't remember. I realized late into the afternoon that our church (that would be the Methodist church I was christened in when it was a white frame building) was hosting the neighboring churches for Thanksgiving fellowship. If you're from around here, "fellowship" means a lot of sweet tea and food. And it is four o'clock in the afternoon and there are SERIOUS emails about how we better not run out of food. So?
You check the freezer. Finger foods. Without going to the store. And the only thing I could find that I could thaw within the time allotted to me was...cocktail weinies. Well, you can't send those, lounging in grape jelly, because it has to be finger food you can load onto a paper plate so I had a stroke of genuis and made...mini-muffins.
Let us keep in mind that 90% of guest intimidation involves presentation. And mini-muffin pans fuck 'em up every time. So I made beer bread batter ( can you SEE where this is going?) and put a dollup of beer bread batter in each mini-muffin cup, then stuck in half a cocktail weinie. Baked those suckers up lightly browned, brushed each one with melted butter and...
People, I was the hit of the night.
UNTIL. Someone found out I sent beer bread to the Methodist church and now, here I sit. Ostracized. Condemned. Despised. I have spread sin and degradation among the most upstanding members of our community (that would be the people who have nothing better to do than show up at church on a Tuesday night.) I put BEER in their food. Beer. Some of these people (I am NOT making this up) don't shop at grocery stores that sell beer. You might get...cooties?
However. This is here. I was christened in this church when it was a little white frame building where the elementary school sits now. They're stuck with me. Sinful bread and all. And I made FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY of those little suckers and no one else will do that, so? Fire me.
Comments
Melissa: I already called "Shotgun" on an aisle seat.
I was just thinking that most of these Methodists probably grew up waiting for the apple cider to get just a little fermented, so it wouldn't actually be a sin.
They forget, Jesus drank wine. Before all the alcohol was baked out of it. Let 'em be mad and they can get glad in the same clothes.
I'm also bettin that most of them are wishing they could figure out the recipe.
Wait, I know this part of the south. When I went to a Christmas service with my best friend from high school (him = southern baptist, me...not), they served GRAPE JUICE AND OYSTER CRACKERS FOR COMMUNION. I nearly pissed myself laughing. While hiding from the glares from my best friend.
And I've got the penthouse suite in hell. ;)